Time Warp
by LiveLoveLikeMe
Summary: Setting: 3B finale. Emma fell through the time portal on her own, but unfortunately, there were some unforeseen consequences. Her mother is a child, Regina's still married to Leopold, and oh yeah, Emma has no memory of who she actually is. Multi-Chap. Swan Queen.
1. It's Astounding

Disclaimer: I don't own Once. If I did, it would be so much better! ;)

A/N: So this came out of nowhere. Don't worry, Not With Haste is still going to be updated soon. I'm going to work on it as soon as I post this. I had this idea, decided I wanted to explore a story in present tense, and wanted something with shorter chapters to work on. This got a bit longer than I wanted it, but I'm hoping that by writing only 2-3k chapters, I'll be able to update this more often. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

ALSO, if anyone is interested, I have this thing I set up at the tumblr OncersTrickorTreat that is open to all Once fans, and will involve some fandom fun on Halloween. Check that out if you're interested and please spread the word.

* * *

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit._

Emma looks around and blinks a few times, hoping the village bustling with life around her will fade out and be replaced by a rickety old barn, but it's all in vain. With every try, her surroundings only become closer to reality, until finally the picture is clear and unchanging. She is definitely sitting on a dirt road in what looks like a medieval village.

There's a person walking by with a cart, two wooden pegs resting atop his shoulders to aid in the hauling of what appears to be baskets of bread, but she's not entirely sure based off the strange shapes of some of his items.

There's also a horse standing a little too close for comfort, so Emma scoots in the dirt to get away, only to feel her back hit some sort of stone wall. Based on the sound of drunken laughter, she surmises it's probably a bar, but there are more pressing matters at the moment than what drink might be causing such joy.

With a groan, Emma tries to think back to what happened. She remembers standing in the diner when everyone got mad at her for announcing that she would be taking Henry and going back to New York. Regina had been especially disappointed, causing that nauseating feeling in her gut to act up, and Emma had run from the establishment in attempt to breathe again. She isn't sure why Regina's disapproval felt so wrong, but it's unmistakable that her body felt uncomfortable with it.

Her memory seems to be growing fuzzier, almost like having been hit over the head with something, and each bit of reality is slowly being replaced by a brick wall. Straining herself to remember before she loses it, Emma thinks back to what happened next.

There had been a bright green light above the abandoned farm, and remembering Zelena's earlier efforts to open a portal to the past, Emma had bolted in that direction. Now the idea of running after unknown magic without backup seems foolish, but at the time all she could think about was Regina's look of disappointment that she had no interest in facing just to ask for help.

Faster and faster her memories are fading, growing distant to a dreamlike state. She knows there's something else she's supposed to remember, something about falling into a bright light in the floor, but it's making less and less sense as the seconds tick by. She pushes herself, trying to reach the blurred picture in her mind, but all that remains is a husky feminine voice yelling something in panic.

'_Emma!'_ Was that it? Does she know Emma? The name feels familiar, like it could sit on her tongue and roll off with ease, but there's a missing connection she can't quite grasp.

"Miss, are you all right?" a woman asks.

She lifts her head to see why some stranger is disturbing her thoughts, which for some reason are important though she can no longer remember why, but the movement causes her dizziness to grow in folds and the next thing she knows, everything is black and the ground feels like a pillow.

* * *

She comes to and there's a throbbing in her head that wasn't there before. At least, she's pretty sure it wasn't there before, but trying to remember causes the pain to worsen.

"Father, look, she's waking up!" a chipper voice squeals out, and the sound only causes her pain to worsen.

She groans, blinking against the light and the sound of people fluttering around. A quick assessment shows that she's lying on something, this time much softer and cleaner than the ground, and when her vision clears she sees that she's now indoors.

"Where am I?"

Almost instantly a little girl is at her side, hair dark and long in curls that frame her face nicely. She's a very pretty child, dressed primly, and for some reason she can't pinpoint it makes her feel out of place. Still, there's something familiar about her, and it's comforting when everything else feels so absent.

Beyond the girl is a stone wall, covered by a tapestry of a large golden palace. Looking around, Emma realizes she's in some sort of bedroom, complete with the bed someone must have placed her on. It has deep purple sheets that match the drapes on the wall. Besides that, there are a few chairs along the wall and a small table with a pitcher of water.

The girl is to Emma's right, all but crawling her way up onto the bed with her.

"Are you okay?" she asks, leering way too closely to Emma's face.

"Snow, don't crowd her," another voice admonishes hesitantly. With a sigh, the little girl backs up two steps, still staring at her with wide eyes.

She strains herself to turn toward the sound, immediately drawn to how gentle it is, and finds it's come from a young woman seated in the corner. She can't recall ever having seen someone so elegant in her life, done up to perfection without so much as a hair out of place against her soft white gown. She finds herself instantly mesmerized by the woman, desperate to drink her in, but a deeper masculine voice down by her feet draws her attention back to more pressing matters before she has the chance.

"I apologize for your current predicament. It seems my men found you unconscious in the village and were unsure what to do with you. As soon as I saw your face, however, I knew I would recognize that chin anywhere. You must be Emma, the cousin from my late wife's family who was traveling to stay with us for the coming moons, yes?" The man speaking is older, but no sign of frailness has claimed his body. He seems strong and guided, just the kind of man she could imagine leading an army into battle. Judging by his deep gold and purple tunic, she guesses she can't be far off.

"I- uh…" She tries to control her speech, but all that comes out is a stutter. Up until his question, the thought hadn't even occurred. Now, she realizes with a startling clarity that she simply doesn't know the answer. She doesn't know very much at all, least not about herself, and she can't recall how long it's been this way in her head.

Surely she must be someone, after all, everyone is someone. Everyone has a name, but nothing seems to be coming up, no matter how deeply she searches. In the corner of her eyes, she becomes aware of a guard shifting by the door, eyeing her cautiously. These people seem to believe she's someone particular, a cousin apparently, though she has no idea if they might be right or not. The guard is still watching her, causing a pit of nerves to roil in her stomach. She needs to get out.

In the process of looking for a window to flee from, she spots the woman from before, taken again by her radiance and something more that's difficult to place about her. She remains in the corner but moves to stand next to the chair instead. Leaving doesn't feel as right when she pops into view, like some unseen force is grounding them together.

Whoever these people are, it is clear they must be important from the extravagance of their apparel alone. She has no idea what will become of her should she leave, but it doesn't seem desirable to find out. Besides, without any recollection of her true self, where would she go? Assuming she even makes it past the now glaring guard, who seems only eager to prove her identity wrong and take her off to a dark alley somewhere.

She only has moments to make a decision before it seems off, so with one final glance at the woman in the corner, she makes the only choice that seems sane; she grasps at the straws being handed to her and puts on the mask of a woman who knows what she's talking about.

"Yes, of course. I'm Emma. Sorry, I must still be a little disoriented from before," she says with a forced laugh. If it's this Emma girl they want, it's Emma they'll get. At least until she can figure out who she really is and where she needs to be. Maybe they're right and she really is Emma, though for some reason the thought feels farfetched. Something in the back of her head is filling her stomach with butterflies, but there's no cliff ready for her to leap from, so she tries her best to ignore how senseless they probably are. If she can't recall why they're there, focusing on them won't help.

"How dare you speak to His Majesty with such casualties!" the guard from before yells. His face is bright red and his eyes are narrowed.

Emma—as she is now to be known, apparently—gulps. If the King thinks her royalty, she is utterly screwed. She's not sure she recalls how to put her left shoe on, let alone anything about how to behave like a royal family.

She opens her mouth, hoping whatever comes out sounds like a decent enough apology, but is beaten to it by the King.

"Guard, you will not speak to any guest of mine in such a way!" he orders briskly. "Her highness is from a very different land. Surely their customs are quite different from ours, and as a guest of this castle, we will all do well to remember that. Now go, alert the staff of her arrival and have them prepare her chambers. Your presence here is no longer necessary."

With a barely disguised grumble, the guard leaves the room. Emma exhales shakily.

"You must be from very far away, indeed! Is that why you dress so strangely?" the beaming little girl asks.

Emma looks down to assess herself, and yes, she definitely looks out of place in comparison in her tight blue pants. Whatever she's stumbled into, it's clear they don't dress in such a way. It's surprising she was mistaken for royalty at all.

"Uh, yes. These are my travel clothes. They're common back home." She smiles at the end, hoping that her words don't sound suspicious. For all she knows, they could very well be common back home. She probably has a home somewhere.

Glancing up to the other woman that Emma can't seem to keep her eyes from, she expects her to make some sort of comment as well. After all, in comparison to her beautiful gown, Emma looks more than a bit out of place, like a street rat. However, she's staring at the ground instead, looking far too interested in the stonework. Emma finds herself disappointed that she can't seem to hold her attention.

"I'm sure in the coming moons we'll learn a great deal about your culture, Emma, as you'll learn of ours. We are family after all," the King says with a smile.

Emma smiles back. There's something about him that seems off, but everything he's said to her has been nothing but kind, even though she's certain she's offended him at least once with how she presents herself.

"Of course," Emma replies with a nod, unsure what else to say. She doesn't know how much she should know about this family or what would be construed as safe to ask, so instead chooses to say as little as possible for the time being. The child seems talkative enough; perhaps she can pick her brain later on without raising too much suspicion.

"Oh, before I forget, surely I still need to introduce everyone. Forgive me, you arrived under some unusual circumstances and we weren't expecting you quite so soon. I'm King Leopold White, but you may just call me Leopold. We're family after all. Eva was my wife until her recent death, and this our daughter, Snow." He gestures to the child, who curtsies slightly to Emma. Unsure what to do, she returns the gesture, and they smile kindly at her.

"Nice to meet you, Princess Snow." She's fairly certain that's at least somewhat correct, though she wouldn't bet her life on it. Snow simply beams up at her, stepping closer to the bed Emma realizes she's still sitting on.

Feeling embarrassed, she rises from it at once. Pleasantly, the dizziness is gone for the time being.

She expects that the mysterious woman off to the side will be next, but he makes no move to introduce her. Emma wonders if she's some sort of maid for young Snow, given the way she keeps to herself off behind them, but apparently her curiosity is noticed by the others.

"And this is my wife, Queen Regina," Leopold introduces. As he does so, he moves back to her side and grabs onto her arm, dragging her forward so that she is shown before Emma.

She tries her best to control her face, not wanting to anger the King, but she's sure some of the shock slips off. This woman appears to be only a few years older than Snow, looking more likely to be another daughter of his than anything. She feels queasy to imagine being married to the man herself, let alone if she were so much younger. She can't possibly be more than 20 years of age.

With the way he introduced her so belatedly, she's shocked that the woman would hold a title as important as Queen.

Emma forces herself to remember to bow again, this time a bit deeper now that she's standing. Regina seems less warm and inviting than the others. She's only heard her speak the one time, to admonish Snow, and her young face remains passive even now.

Yet still, she can't peel her eyes away. She takes the opportunity of being closer to fully see how she looks. Regina holds herself tightly, arms pressed to her sides and back straight up into a perfect posture. It hardly looks comfortable, but Emma suddenly feels self conscious for her own slumped stance and forces herself to straighten up.

"It's nice to meet you, Your Majesty," Emma greets, sticking a hand out on instinct. She instantly wants to shoot herself, unsure _where_ the motion even came from. It doesn't seem like something these people do, nor like something they would expect her to do if Regina's widening eyes are of any indication.

She's not sure what would look stranger, to remove her hand or to leave it there and wait for Regina to react. Her eyes are darting back and forth between Emma's hand and the floor like she's searching for something, lips clenched tightly together.

Finally the King clears his throat and Regina moves with a jump, tentatively taking Emma's hand in her own silk gloved one, and lowers herself to bring it to her lips. Emma's unsure what she was expecting in response, but a kiss on her own bare hand is not it, and she can feel hot blood rushing to her cheeks before she can stop it. Despite the encompassing awkward air of the situation, Regina's lips are soft, and she feels lost when they're gone too quickly.

Emma's about to say something to diffuse the sliceable tension in the room when Snow beats her to it.

"Oh, is that another custom from your land? You must teach me all about it!" The joy is palpable, and while she would sometimes find that annoying she thinks, it feels quite welcome at the moment.

"Yes, exactly. I apologize, Your Majesty. I don't know where my head was to think you would expect that. I must still be a bit disoriented."

She hopes she'll say something, anything to let her know it's okay, but Regina merely nods and resumes staring at the ground, face stoic.

"Of course, you must be tired from your travels, too! I will have a maid show you to your chambers at once so you may rest before tonight. We will be having a small ball to celebrate your arrival, of course," Leopold explains enthusiastically.

"Oh, may I show her, father?" Snow asks, nearly jumping with excitement but trying to contain it for what Emma can only guess is formality.

He smiles down at her and places a hand on the girl's shoulder. "You may, my love. Just try not to tire her out with too many questions at once."

"Yes, father." She turns to Emma expectantly. "You can follow me—oh, how should I address you?"

"Emma will be fine," she replies. She probably has a real title if she truly is their relative, but it remains completely lost to her mind.

Snow smiles and exits the bedroom they currently occupy, a few maids bustling about that she hadn't even noticed before. She wonders why she isn't just to stay in that one but figures it isn't the time to argue. It does seem rather large, so perhaps it's too big for a guest's room, and they want her somewhere less extravagant.

Emma looks at Regina, hoping she plans to follow so that she can somehow spend more time around the intoxicating woman, but she remains in place when Leopold gives the simple command, "Regina, stay." It is much colder than she's heard him sound so far, and only heard as she's exiting through the doorway, but Emma feels uneasy about it. Part of her wants to go back and insist Regina accompany them, but instead she follows Snow down a corridor before she can get lost.

"So, Emma, you must tell me all about your home. Do all the ladies dress in this way?" Snow begins, and she can tell it's going to be a long day.


	2. Time is Fleeting

A/N: Yay, I am so glad people like this. I have been having so much fun writing this story in my spare time, and already the next chapter is in the works. As always, I would love to hear what you think about this.

* * *

Emma sighs and wriggles in place, hoping that she can adjust herself as discretely as possible. In a ballroom full of mingling guests, it's an impossible feat, and a few heads turn to stare at her curiously. She knows Snow was only trying to help, but it feels like another second spent in this damn dress and corset is going to lead to things popping where they most definitely shouldn't.

She's not quite sure how long the ball thrown together in her honor has been going on, but Emma's positive it's been way too long. Her feet are killing her, there's likely a massive bruise forming on her shin from when she slammed it into the table a little while ago, and the headache from earlier is slowly making its return.

Despite all this, Emma tries to make the best out of the situation. The ballroom is decorated beautifully, though she gets the feeling most of it is a permanent fixture of the décor, likely designed to host lavish parties on a regular basis. Given how quickly this was thrown together for her, Emma figures it's not uncommon for the King to entertain a room full of nobles.

As the guest of honor, Emma's spent her evening fighting off offers to dance. The food at dinner was so delicious, all she wants is to sneak off for seconds, but that seems less and less likely by the minute. She considers asking a servant to get her another plate, but seeing as everyone is up mingling and dancing about the ballroom, she figures that would probably be construed as rude. She's pushed her luck on those "we do things differently back home" excuses for the day as it is.

With a deep sigh and a new determination to ignore her growling stomach, Emma sets her sight around the dance floor. She's danced with several men since the start of the evening, although most of those were peppered with mistakes. She had realized a moment too late that she wasn't familiar with any of these dances, which had led to stepping on more than a few toes. Luckily, her bad etiquette on the dance floor seems to be doing more good than harm by keeping other men from approaching her after witnessing what became of the feet to those before them who dared to dance with her.

Now, finally, she at least is being left alone. Every few minutes someone comes over to make introductions with the guest of honor, and every few minutes she forces a smile and says as little as possible until they choose to end the awkward air by taking leave from her.

It's not that she hates people, by any means. At least, she doesn't think she does. It's just that Emma has no idea how to be Emma, and on the off chance that someone should figure that out, she doesn't want to give them any ammunition to do so. She needs time to get her memories back.

Snow was good for keeping her company and filling in the conversation gaps between explaining to her all the customs of a ball like this, but now she's gone. She hadn't thought she would miss the chatty teenager, but now that she's removed herself from her side, Emma finds herself wondering when she'll return.

Glancing about the room, her eyes finally land on Snow and the King, both dancing across the dance floor. He had—quite unfortunately—been Emma's first dancing victim, but even with his older gait he seems to be recovered now. Everyone seems to love dancing here, especially the King, who has yet to leave the floor for more than a few moments at a time all evening. The only one she has yet to see dance is Regina.

She waited only a few seconds upon entering the ballroom earlier before seeking out the Queen with her eyes. Regina looked even more stunning than before, her white gown exchanged for something soft pink and silky. She had gone immediately to her throne beside the King's and then promptly remained there all evening.

Emma wishes Regina would see her standing alone and come over before another annoying man chooses to take his turn on the broken toe train, but she barely glances her way. Regina sits ramrod straight in her seat, head held high and level in what she only can imagine is an incredibly uncomfortable position.

Emma's tempted to just give up hoping and wander over herself, still infatuated with learning more about the quiet woman, but she's unsure of the formality around approaching the Queen like that. So far in the evening, she's yet to see a single person besides a serving girl with some wine wander near the Queen, which seems strange. The noblemen hold no such qualms about the King, but perhaps it's another strange rule of this land.

People clap as the song ends, so Emma robotically follows, hoping it doesn't come across as forced. Her attention is still strayed from the dancing and onto Regina, who moves only enough to clap her hands together twice before resuming her stance.

"Did you see us, Emma?" Snow asks excitedly from her side, causing Emma to jump and tear her eyes away from Regina.

"Yes, I did. You're a very good dancer, Snow," she tries.

Snow beams in pride and Emma sighs, knowing she's said the right thing for once. "I've been taking lessons since I could walk. Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it soon!"

Emma winces. Part of her hoped no one noticed her blunders, but apparently not. "Yeah, hopefully I do."

She pauses for a moment, wondering what the best approach to broaching the Regina subject could be. She's restrained herself from asking about Regina so far tonight, not wanting Snow to find her fascination with the other woman as odd as she already was finding it herself. With every second that the evening wears on and Regina remains seated, her mind fills with more and more questions, and they only seem to be more desperate each time.

"Hey, Snow, can I ask you a question?"

"Oh of course! How silly of me, I am sure you want to know just as much about life here as I do about your life, Emma."

"It's just Regina. Uhm, how come she isn't dancing?" Emma tries, deciding to start at the most pressing issue.

"Oh." Snow's face scrunches and she frowns to herself. "I suppose no one has asked her. Come to think of it, I'm not sure I've ever seen her dance. I've just assumed she doesn't know how."

"Still, it's got to be pretty lonely just sitting up there by herself. Maybe we should go talk to her for a while."

"Oh, I had better not." Snow looks down at the ground, frown deepening.

"Why? Are we not supposed to go up there?" Emma asks. She feels like her heart is sinking as she says it, all fantasies of getting to know the mysterious woman slowly drowning inside her.

"No, just like with my father, you merely have to ask her permission to approach first."

Emma raises an eye brow. "Then why don't you want to go?"

"I love my Step Mother, I do, but father says I should not crowd her at these events. He does not wish for the other nobles to see her as a babysitter when she is their Queen. The people do not see her as I do, and it makes them uncomfortable." _She makes them uncomfortable._

Emma squints her eyes at Snow's explanation, trying and failing to understand her reasoning. She can tell many seem almost afraid of Regina, but aside from a little shyness, Emma has yet to find anything the least bit off-putting about the woman. She's sure if Snow is not to approach Regina, she probably shouldn't either.

Somewhere in Emma's fuzzy mind, she feels like rules have never really been her strong suit.

"Okay, well I'm still going to go over. She has to be bored just sitting there watching everyone, right? Maybe I can even get her to dance."

Snow's eyes widen but she carefully schools her features after a moment and says nothing against it. "I wish you luck, Emma," is all that's spoken before Snow scurries off, probably in search of some of the other children who keep looking at her.

Emma makes her way toward the dais, suddenly feeling the nerves settle at the bottom of her stomach without the guidance of Snow to help her. As annoying as the girl can be, Emma's not sure she would have made it through the night so far without her aid. She's actually beginning to grow on her a bit, though it helps that Snow keeps staring at her with total undeserved adoration.

She pauses at the base of the step, hoping Regina will look at her and help her with whatever it is she's supposed to do next, but the woman does not offer her so much as a glance of guidance. Clearing her throat, Emma tries what Snow said before leaving.

"Your Majesty, may I have permission to approach you?"

Several people within hearing distance stop to stare at Emma, but the only eyes she's focusing on are Regina's newly startled ones.

The Queen looks her up and down from up on her throne, though what she's thinking about Emma can't even begin to imagine. Finally, Regina subtly nods her head once, which Emma takes as her queue to move closer. With an awkward curtsey that she thinks might be good to toss in, Emma lifts her dress and ascends the dais to Regina's side.

Once she approaches Regina, though, all words leave her. She realizes she's forgotten to come up with something to actually say to the woman in all her excitement over finally getting a chance to speak with her, and Regina's awkward glare in her direction is not helping. Neither are the 50 watching nobles, but she tries to ignore them, fairly certain their conversation won't be audible from so far away.

"Was there something you required, You Highness, or did you merely wish to spend the rest of your evening staring at me up close? Although it seems you've already been occupying a great deal of your time with that particular activity."

Emma sucks in a deep breath, having not expected to hear so many words come from the previously quiet woman all at once. She's not sure what she anticipated, but it certainly wasn't a perfectly poised and crafted response of sass.

"You, uh, you noticed?" Emma winces and tries to cover it with a smile.

"Indeed. You were far less subtle than you must have intended to be. But do not worry, many people stare at first."

"Right," Emma sighs and looks to her feet, wishing this would go better. "I apologize. I just noticed you were here alone-"

"And you thought you would come entertain the lonesome Queen? How chivalrous of you. I can assure you I am perfectly fine where I always am during these events. Besides, shouldn't you be off fielding questions from the Princess." Regina raises an eyebrow and something jolts through Emma. She also feels bad for making Regina think she saw her as lonely, but she was correct in her assumption. It's so much more than that, though, but Emma doesn't know just how to explain her Regina infatuation to Regina when she can't even figure it out herself.

"There's plenty of time for that later. Right now I wanted to get to know you." She smirks.

"There's not much to know," Regina says stiffly. For a second, her eyes flicker out to the people dancing, but soon she returns her gaze to Emma expectantly.

"Everybody has things you can learn about them if you look hard enough. I think I've already got one thing figured out about you."

"And what might that be, dear?"

"You definitely know how to dance," Emma blurts out. "Even if you have never touched a dance floor before, anyone who watches people's movements that carefully is bound to pick more than a few moves up." She watches as Regina's brow slowly furrows and her head tilts up. She's clearly caught off by Emma's observation, and something more, but she's not sure just what that something more is.

Regina coughs. "Is that a crime? I noticed you seem positively dangerous on your feet."

"Of course not," Emma says confidently before wincing. Of course Regina has to have seen her graceless attempts at dancing with various men. Part of her hoped she didn't notice, but the smug look on Regina's face says all Emma needs to know. It occurs to her then that in order to see her dancing, Regina has to have been staring back when she wasn't looking. "And it looks like I'm not the only one who was watching, was I, Your Majesty?"

"I am the Queen. I do not need to answer to you," Regina responds haughtily. There's just a faint blush that rises to her cheeks. Emma thinks she may have considered it the woman's makeup if she hadn't already been staring long enough to memorize how it looked before.

"Relax, I wasn't going to make you. That's not even why I came over here."

"Then what was? I have a very busy agenda this evening and you are keeping me from it with every minute you force me to sit through more of your incessant babble."

Busy? Emma thinks about challenging that, since clearly the only thing Regina has to do is sit on her throne and stare at other people having fun without her, but she holds back from saying that. It is clear to her that Regina is vastly ignored, and as snippy as she is, she could probably use a friend. Despite the instinct telling her to run in the other direction, part of Emma wants to be that friend, and it's becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore.

"You seriously don't like me, do you?" She blurts out, dropping any false formality from her tone that was already fading fast.

"What would give you an impression like that? I do not even know you." Regina sniffs.

"Seriously?" Emma deadpans with a groan. She's not sure if Regina is trying to make a joke of if she is truly that oblivious to how she comes off around others.

Regina shifts awkwardly in her seat and looks almost apologetic for a moment, but it's enough for Emma to understand what she's trying to say without needing to hear it.

"I will admit that you are not the worst person I've been forced to endure," Regina slowly speaks.

"Awe, does that mean I'm growing on you already?" Emma flashes her cheeky smile and laughs at the way it makes Regina roll her eyes.

"Not if you continue down this line of questioning. Is that all?"

"No! I, well, I just…"

Emma's unsure how to vocalize the main reason for coming over, all those nerves from before coming back in tenfold. She's not sure what will be worse, Regina saying yes or Regina saying no. She just knows she won't be able to live with herself if she doesn't get it out soon.

"Spit it out, you look like a fish floundering around like that and, like it or not, people are always watching," Regina snips impatiently.

"I was hoping you would grace me with a dance, Your Majesty."

Emma holds out her hand as she's seen various men do when asking her all evening, even going to far as to bow slightly with the effort. Regina, for her part, grows silent once more. Her mouth hangs open, not enough to resemble something as undignified as gawking, but enough for Emma to notice.

"You want to dance with me?" Regina manages to ask without squeaking out any of her words as Emma imagines she would have done were the situation reversed.

"Yes," she replies confidently.

"You're a woman."

"I was aware of that one. So are you." Emma raises an eyebrow, prepared for the next in what is surely a long list of excuses.

"No one has ever dared to request a dance with my before."

"Then they have been missing out on what I'm sure will be a wonderful experience."

"And you have two left feet."

She sighs. Regina has her there, and as much as she wants to dance with the Queen and show all those stuffy people just how magnificent she actually is, Emma doesn't want to cause her any physical injuries in the process.

"If you want to reject me, just do it. Otherwise-"

"One dance," Regina interrupts. It is spoken with such finality that Emma feels as though she is the one accepting, and not the other way around.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And _I_ will lead," Regina adds with a pointed glare. Emma blushes in embarrassment but nods her head.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."


	3. Madness Takes its Toll

**A/N: **I've been holding off on uploading this because it's so short for me, but then I remembered the point of me writing this was to try something shorter so I could update more. So here you go. I like this scene so I don't want to try and mess with it just to add length, and I would rather the next scene be separate anyways, as I have a full chapter in mind. I have a break starting Wednesday so hopefully the next section, after a NWH update, will come soon! Thanks for sticking with me.

* * *

Dancing with Regina is far more awkward than Emma imagined it would be. There are several noticeable gasps throughout the room the moment the Queen takes her hand and allows her to lead them down the steps. Regina never shows any notice, but Emma still feels like wincing at the strange looks. Just how much do these people dislike their Queen?

They stand in front of each other in the quickly-cleared space, and for a moment, both women just stare at the other. Regina seems entirely focused on trying to ascertain where to place her arms, but Emma just feels all the burning stares and wonders if it's too late to flee.

Regina is the Queen, and she doesn't dare make the first move toward the elegant woman. Emma's afraid to touch her, like she could somehow taint her beauty with the slightest brush of her hand. She fears for a moment that this dance is not the best of ideas. Regina doesn't wish to dance with her and is only trying to appease their guest; she might as well be forcing the other woman into it.

A gentle hand on her wait is the anchor she needs to get her mind back where it should be. Emma lets out a breath and straightens her spine in preparation to begin moving, trying desperately to ignore the funny feeling in her chest at Regina's hand firmly pressed to her hip. The other reaches up and clasps their hands together.

The touch seems to set off a spark of motion back into the room. A deep resonating note bellows through the spacious room, bouncing off the mirrored walls, and the music begins once more. Emma realizes as the people begin to dance around her that she'd never even noticed when it stopped to begin with.

As the song continues on, Emma lets Regina pull her through the spins and steps with practiced ease. She knows she's awkward and rigid, but Regina flows across the floor like liquid. She's the most alive Emma's seen her yet, nearly smiling to herself despite all the open stares of bitter disbelief.

She thinks for a moment that these people are jealous of her for getting to dance with their Queen, but Emma can only find fault with them for never taking advantage of such an opportunity.

She can't believe this woman has never even been asked to dance before.

They take a sharp turn, and not even Regina's skillful movements can stop her clumsy feet from interfering. Somehow a foot breaks free from beneath the layers upon layers of ruffle and Emma knows the moment she crunches down on Regina's delicate toes.

"Sorry," Emma mumbles in embarrassment when Regina grimaces.

"It is of no matter, I knew what I was getting into," she replies, holding herself tall and biting back the pain with a level of grace far exceeding Emma's imagination.

"Did I hurt you?" she asks with a frown and a glance down at their feet. Emma knows immediately that this is the wrong move when her foot catches on the edge of her dress and makes her stumble. Flushing in embarrassment, Emma's thankful Regina's arms remain out to hold her up.

"Not drastically, Dear." A sharp look tells Emma it's best not to further bring the topic up, so she simply nods in acceptance.

They continue through the dance, Emma trying twice as hard to keep from stumbling, and soon the song comes to an end. Her smile falls when she realizes what the slowing notes are trying to indicate, afraid to let go of the Queen in her arms.

The thought sends an inexplicable chill down her spine, and not for the first time, Emma wonders why she's so drawn to the elegant woman. She looks at Regina's face, how concentrated she is on each of the steps, and there's just _something_ there that she desperately needs to identify.

The music ends, and people move apart to bow to their partners.

Emma tries to follow the pattern she's learned throughout the evening, but Regina holds her in place.

"Don't tell me you're feeling eager to end the fun already?" Regina asks. There's a sly smile on her face, and Emma knows immediately that she's teasing. Regina's eyes flash with something that doesn't seem quite so fitting, flickering down to the floor, and the action moves Emma to step closer once more.

"Your Majesty, I would be honored if you would accompany me for another dance. Your grace vastly exceeds my own, but I would cherish the opportunity to sweep you off your feet." Emma feels cheesy and unsure about the words, partially trying to keep from laughing at herself for them. She feels silly, like the part she's playing just doesn't quite feel right, and some of it even seems as if she's flirting with Regina.

She doesn't even know who she is, yet she's flirting with the Queen she just met. The _married _Queen. It makes her brain hurt to think about, and she would fear for her life at the crass action if not for the fact that Regina doesn't seem to mind.

She wants to take it back, but Regina only smiles back at her in the most honest expression she's seen cross the Queen's face. They begin the second dance, now with less attention on them as the crowd has lost interest in the newfound action, and Emma decides she doesn't care about the King who so obviously ignores his wife.

"How old are you?"

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Emma gulps nervously. It's so easy to keep forgetting herself when she cannot even remember so much as her own name. So far she's learned she has no natural filter, which apparently means not even her thoughts are safe from those around her.

"Lady Swan! That is not an appropriate question to ask a woman, I don't care where you come from." Regina's eyes are wide and blaze full of disgruntled anger. Emma's afraid that she'll stomp off the floor right then and there, decorum be damned, but her feet never once falter despite the intensity of her glare.

"Sorry. It's just, I noticed your husband is…"

"Is what?" Regina's voice is low and warning, yet Emma feels herself babbling on.

"Well, he seems kind of ancient and you're so-"

"I am well aware of the age difference between the King and myself," Regina cuts her off. The words are sharp, but they feel cold more than anything. There is no passion behind it, and it hurts Emma's heart. Her mind trails back over the moments she has seen them together and Emma frowns. At first she had not even realized Regina was a part of the family, and now as she looks at her, she wonders just how such a beautiful young woman became his wife at all.

"And you're okay with that?" Emma asks carefully, afraid Regina might react like a wounded dog.

"Should I not be?" Her voice is small and quiet. It's quickly apparent that the question is posed more to herself than to Emma, and for the first time it's Regina who stumbles. Emma quickly dips down, hoping to make the mistake look like her own fault, and it seems to work if the warmth that flickers in Regina's eyes for only a moment is any indication of her thanks.

"That doesn't really seem like an answer," Emma whispers.

"And my marriage really does not seem like your business." With Regina's regained footing comes the fire Emma ha glimpsed in her earlier, almost like a challenge being posed to her, and she desperately wants to accept.

"Touché, Your Majesty." Emma laughs, secretly pleased that the Queen seems to have recovered from whatever awkward can of worms she inadvertently opened.

They fall into silence again, Emma afraid of causing the Queen further offense and Regina seemingly trying to concentrate on avoiding any further stumbles. It barely lasts a few bars, though, because all her brain wants to do is ask Regina a million different questions. She wonders if she's simply an inquisitive person, or if it's just the mystery surrounding the Queen that has her so taken, but of course there is no easy answer to that question.

"You should do this more often."

"What?"

"Dance. You're really good at it."

Regina blushes, much to Emma's shock, and for a moment is seems like the ice has melted completely from her exterior. There's something faraway about her expression, and more than ever her youth is apparent to Emma. She can't be much more than a young girl, really.

There is so much vibrance in her sometimes, like a palate of paint has just been tossed in her face, and Emma wants to spend forever painting with Regina if it means she gets to see more of her colors. She's so many things when no one else is looking—sweet, sassy, witty enough to challenge anyone to a war of words. Emma wonders how a woman so infatuating could be in front of all these people every day and have none of them seem to know her at all.

"Where did you say you were from again? You speak quite informally for a royal," Regina snips, but there is a playfulness to her tone that Emma wishes would remain on a permanent basis. She wishes she could turn Regina out to all these people and show them how wonderful she is, how she dances with more grace than the wind, and how she's like Spring in how much life she holds when the ice melts away.

Emma wants to join in the fun and wrap herself around this part of Regina, until she realizes that Regina actually expects an answer from her, and she is still completely unaware of what that answer should be. She wants to keep the brunette in her arms where she can watch the emotions splay out across her face, where she can protect her from all these people who seem so quick to judge their Queen without even taking a moment to try and know her, but Emma is terrified of Regina finding out the truth.

Fear rages through her, causing Emma to stumble back slightly. The song ends, and it looks like Regina intends to keep the dance going yet again, but she's still staring at Emma expectantly—now even a bit suspiciously—and she knows she needs to get out of there before she ends up confessing the entire truth to those inquisitive eyes that will probably haunt her dreams.

"Are you all right?" Regina asks. There's a slight waver to her tone, and Emma know she never would hear it if she wasn't already feeling it herself.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I just… I need some air." Emma turns to go, only remembering how rude she will look if she doesn't pay her respects like everyone else, and she turns into an awkward bow.

"Thank you for the dances, Your Majesty."

"Emma, I-"

But Emma doesn't wait around to hear the rest as she darts off in the direction of the door she's pretty certain leads to the outside gardens. She needs to get away—from her thoughts, from her big mouth, and mostly from Regina and all the emotions she keeps causing to bubble up inside her.


End file.
